


The Misfortune

by pagesfromthemaple



Series: Tumblr Writing [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Everyone Is Alive, Other, Quote: Another broken white boy for me to fix (Marvel), Slow Burn, They're all friends and they love each other goddamit, billy russo goes to therapy, billy russo is decidedly not an irredeemable piece of shit, everyone is happy, i'm back and i'm sad so i write, sexy broken white man needs to learn what love is, with as little mpdg as i can
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagesfromthemaple/pseuds/pagesfromthemaple
Summary: In something of an ‘everyone’s happy’ au, Billy Russo works hard, lives alone, and spends his spare time with good friends after taking Rawlins down. It seems to work fine for him, but your move to the city forces him to confront and redesign his approach on love and luck.
Relationships: Billy Russo/Original Character(s), Billy Russo/Original Female Character(s), Billy Russo/Reader, Frank Castle/Karen Page
Series: Tumblr Writing [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1456426
Comments: 15
Kudos: 32





	1. [The Misfortune of] Realizing You Have Romantic Feelings

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially my wish-fulfillment self-insert fanfiction to cope with both my gross attraction to Billy Russo and the fact that I can't get a hold of my counselor during quarantine.

There were two things that Billy Russo did not care for, and those were love and luck.

Billy was not a man intimate with the concept of fortune, of luck. His wealth dared to prove him wrong, but he did not amass his wealth or success from fortune. Fortune was a way of saying the cards were just stacked in your favour at the start, and favour was not something Billy knew well either. He worked, he worked _hard_ for what he had, and everything he had he regarded with an air of self-assurance (and something that toed the line of smugness) because it all served as a reminder that he had made it for himself. Not luck. Certainly not favour.

And love? Please. For people like Frank, love came easily, love _fit_ in their lives. It made Frank softer, but not weak, Billy understood that much. When Frank met Karen, he became fiercer somehow, even deadlier. And all the fucking power to him, Billy thought. But in his line of work and the way he was as a man? Love didn’t fit in his goals. Certainly not the type of love his friends advocated for.

So Billy Russo sat third-wheel. He watched in passive fascination Frank growing weaker and stronger at the same time. Curtis called him soft, but Frank never seemed to mind. If someone called Billy soft, he’d rip their head off with his bare hands.

He was sitting now with the aforementioned lovers, facing them from his designated chair in their apartment. Curtis sat on the couch between Billy and them. He was entranced in the football game, taking occasional swigs of beer and arguing with Frank. Billy didn’t pay much attention- football wasn’t his thing, but he didn’t turn down a chance to be with his friends.

He didn’t _love_ his friends, per se; they were his family, as soldiers were, and he trusted them, and he enjoyed their presence. Karen, he was fond of, and that was that. When he glanced over at her, it was at the second her phone rang, obnoxiously loud.

“Shit, sorry,” she sighed, checking the caller. “I gotta take this, hope you don’t mind.”

No one did.

She answered the call as she lifted Frank’s arm from her shoulder and stood up to walk to the adjacent kitchen. Billy nonchalantly followed her with his empty glass and plate. She pointed him in the direction of the sink, and as he washed his dishes, he caught snippets of the voice on the other end of the line.

“That’s great, you know? Anything to get out… no, you know what? You can totally come and crash, Frank and I don’t mind at all,” Karen said, listening intently. Billy passively heard the words ‘ready’ and ‘timing’. “If you’re coming ahead of your stuff… good idea… I’m glad you came to me, really, I can’t wait to see you. When will you be here? Awesome… we’ll come get you. No, no, don’t worry at all. Yeah! We’ll see you tomorrow!” Karen ended the call, and leaned back against the kitchen counter with her eyes closed as she slid Billy a decent bottle of whiskey.

“Just a little bit, please,” she said to him, not opening her eyes. He took out a glass and filled it to her liking, sliding it back to her.

“Friend fell on hard times?” he guessed. Karen finally looked at him, eyeing him up and down in habitual suspicion, then relaxing. The two of them weren’t especially close, but they had some time ago adopted the type of friendship that came from having mutually had their lives saved by Frank Castle.

“Um, yeah,” she replied slowly, pocketing her phone and taking a sip from her glass, “an old friend of mine from Vermont is moving down here. For work. They’re staying with me and Frank until their place is all set up and their stuff gets here.”

He hummed in acknowledgement. No words were spoken between them, and when Curtis and Frank’s deafening cheers beckoned them back to the living room, Billy had dismissed the whole thing. When the game was over, Karen caught Frank up with her friend’s news, and when Frank simply nodded and kissed her tenderly on the cheek, Billy scoffed again at his friend’s passivity. That night, he went through the next day’s events with a fine-toothed comb, prepared his clothes and his breakfast, and fell asleep promptly in his own bed.

It wasn’t until nearly a week later that Frank called Billy’s cell to call in a favour as he was leaving work. Karen’s friend needed help moving into their new place- just some boxes, they didn’t have much.

“I was gonna ask Curt first, but he’s running some seminar that night,” Frank finished with a short laugh. Billy chuckled and checked his schedule beside him on his desk. It was his first day off since he had last seen Frank and Karen, but he wasn’t going to do much anyways. If anything, it would be good for him to lift boxes all day.

“Yeah, I’ll be there, send the address,” Billy replied, and leisurely let Frank lead the conversation as he left his office.

“Yeah, she- fuck, they’re nice. Cute, Bill, a bit young for you, but they’re cute,” Frank commented. Billy raised his eyebrow at that.

“Don’t get all excited, asshole,” he added, as if he saw Billy’s reaction. “Uh, I’m not sure if I’m supposed to say, but Karen says sh- they’re all broken up about some dick in Vermont. Not the type of broken up that needs your idea of help.”

“Oh? _My_ idea of help, fucker?” Billy let out a laugh and started his car.

“You know what I mean. Just come and be decent,” Frank finished, and he heard on the other end Karen calling for him. “Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow, brother.”

Billy gave Karen’s friend a bit more thought over his dinner. Young and cute was young and cute, but it wasn’t like he was trying to get laid at the moment, and he didn’t want to mess with Karen anyways if she found out.

Billy Russo set out his clothes for the next day, sent some emails, prepared his breakfast and went to sleep giving half a thought about which cologne he was going to wear tomorrow.

-

There had been a problem getting all your possessions from Fagan Corners to New York City. It would be some days after you were planning to arrive to settle the finances of your new apartment that your things would come, and you weren’t sure if you’d be able to stay in your apartment that soon anyways. But you weren’t one to fuss too hard, so you called Karen, asked her if you could take their couch for a week, and that was that. You had had to sell your car to help pay for the bachelor apartment (the prices in the city were _disgusting_ ), so you ended up taking the train to reunite with your closest childhood friend.

You weren’t sure what to say when Karen had introduced you to her hulk of a boyfriend at the station. She was a tall woman, and Frank wasn’t too much taller than her, but he towered over you easily in his all-black attire, and when he shook your hand, you had to flex your fingers for a second afterwards. At the same time, he was so pleasant and polite, he tried his damndest to get a hold of your pronouns when you corrected him. He genuinely didn’t know what to do with the bread you baked as a thank-you for letting you stay, but after the third night you found the container empty. You saw, though, on the drive to their place that Karen had found love in him. That was all it took for you to loosen up around the guy that had allegedly killed 37 people.

37, on the record.

You knew Karen well- you were the only person she stayed in contact with from her hometown. She was always the person you went to, so when your boyfriend had torn your heart in half, that’s just what you did. She didn’t think twice about offering you a position at the newspaper she worked at, even though you already had some job prospects lined up.

You spent most of your first few days in New York listening to Karen tell you all about the things she’d love for you to see, then running errands for them so you could get used to the area. The night before your things were scheduled to arrive, Frank cautiously offered you a glass of orange juice and sat on the chair next to your makeshift bed.

“Look, my friend Billy offered to come help move your stuff in tomorrow,” he spoke softly. He always spoke softly around you and strangers, a little less around Karen. The loudest you’ve heard him was with whoever he was just talking to on the phone. “You don’t have to worry about thanking him or anything, he probably owes me for something.”

You nodded, grateful. Then you thought for a second. “Did you want me to make more chocolate bread anyways?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll have to get stuff for it, remind me once I’m settled in,” you laughed. “Tell me about your friend. Billy?”

“Uh, yeah,” Frank sighed out, “‘ve known him since our days in the Marines. Lieutenants, me and him. Best man I’ve ever known. Besides Curtis, who you’ve met-” you nodded, remembering two days before when Frank’s friend dropped off paperwork “-Billy’s, uh, he’s doing good for himself now. He does military contracting, got his own private company. And he’s- he’s not too bad on the eyes.” He told you that last bit with a half-smile, reaching across to nudge you awkwardly. You snorted.

“I’m not interested in that sorta thing, but thank you,” you said, finishing your glass and setting it on the coffee table. “I mostly came to New York for myself. I guess a lot of people say that, but I was kind of losing it at home, you know? I wasn’t doing anything for _me_. Always for Nate, or for other people. And they knew it too. They knew they could get it from me. I was being used. So I’m here now.”

That was about the most you’ve said about yourself to Frank without Karen there, and it wasn’t even a great thing about yourself. It was exactly what you _didn’t_ want to talk about with new people, even if Frank knew a little more from Karen. You covered your mouth, looking up at Frank to apologize for overindulging. He held up a hand.

“I get it,” he consoled. “I mean, not the same, but… war does that to you. You lose yourself. You do what you’re told. You come home with all this freedom, and then what, you know?” He coughed lightly, then stood up to collect your glass. “Me, Billy, we didn’t really know what the hell to do with ourselves. But yanno, you establish a routine, you recognize what you can and can’t do, you find your way. You find someone that helps you. You’ll get by.”

Thinking about your tumultuous last few weeks in Fagan Corners, you remembered how alone you had felt. Your parents and your brother had hugged you goodbye at the station, but it felt more like they were glad to see you leave. Not that you were a presence there, anyways. When Nate broke up with you, you holed up in your room, sitting in the emptiness. Then when you decided to move, you holed up in your room making the arrangements. Surely your family wanted the best for you, even if they weren’t too sure how to help you get there. They just didn’t get what you were going through.

But now, within less than a week of knowing Frank, he understood in a second what had taken you weeks to justify to your family. So maybe he was right. You just needed to surrender to time to heal and find the right friends. You lay down on the couch while Frank left to get ready for bed.

You fell asleep thinking about routine, and finding people that understood you, and you mentally made a note to not find any love trouble before you figured yourself out.

-

The next day, close to noon, after his morning workout and his shower and his skin pampering and his breakfast, Billy parked his Rolls Royce at the address Frank had given him. He had meticulously sifted through his collection of colognes and decided on one he perceived as friendly and subtle, but classy and guaranteed to grant him a good first impression. It didn’t matter who it was- Billy Russo went above and beyond.

When Frank, Karen, and her friend parked behind his car, Billy stepped out and was greeted with a tight hug. Frank pulled away quickly, wrinkling his nose.

“What the hell’s that smell?” he laughed, shoving Billy’s shoulder. “We’re handling boxes, not congressmen.”

Billy returned the smile and held his hands up in defense. “You told me to be decent. Here I am.”

“Yeah, asshole, here you are.” Frank turned around and searched past Karen for the other person coming from his car. “Hey, come over here and meet Russo.”

And there you were.

For a split second, Billy wondered if he _had_ overdone it with the choice in cologne, but quickly brushed the thought off. He didn’t use this one often. He hadn’t settled into the smell yet. You smiled, said hello, introduced yourself. Billy caught a whiff of the scent you wore when you shook his hand- it was subtle, but it suited you well. He looked you up and down, taking in your hair, your plain clothes. You were put together nicely. _Cute_.

“Hey, thanks for taking your day off to help me,” you said to him as the four of you entered your building and made for the stairs. “Frank told me. It’s really kind of you, you don’t even know me.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Billy shook his head. “You’re a friend of Karen, I’m a friend of Frank. I probably owe the bastard anyway.” You continued until you found your apartment number. You dug out the key from your pocket, flashing a bright smile at Karen, who was just behind Billy. He blinked twice, looking at you whisper to yourself as you fit the key in. Your smile was nice; it suited your face.

“The big moment!” you exclaimed as you all but ran right inside. Not that there was very far to run. In something like fifteen steps Billy walked the whole length of the apartment.

His goddamn office was bigger than your new place. He observed the corner space behind him, reserved for a bed that physically couldn’t be anything more than _maybe_ a queen. The main space he stood in was decorated solely with a scuffed-up wooden coffee table. To Billy’s right was the ‘kitchen’, consisting of a white, L-shaped counter that took up the expanse of the wall it was up against, then the stove, sink, and cabinets crammed into the corner opposite the short end of the L. The last tenant hadn’t even left you a couch.

No one gave him any numbers as to how well you were getting by, but Billy hoped they’d bring a couch with your stuff.

“There’s so much natural light!”

You, on the other hand, were beaming, inspecting every nook and cranny of the place (it didn’t take you very long). Frank was making sure the bathroom worked fine, and Karen stood in the closed balcony, from which there was indeed sunlight lighting up the majority of the apartment.

“It’s cozy,” Frank concluded as he joined you in the main space and sat down on the coffee table. Billy was sure it would break if he joined, so he stayed in front of you as you marveled at what was easily a third the size of his home.

“It’s sized appropriately for a certain number of occupants,” you corrected him. Billy hid his smile. “I’ll put some plants on the balcony, it’ll be nicer. Maybe once I get my bed here it’ll look like someone can live here.”

“How about a couch?” Billy pressed. You shook your head.

“We’ll get there. Maybe. Might just make visitors sit on the counter.” You turned to him, then, with another nice smile. He hesitantly returned it, so as to not alarm you that he was starting to feel trapped.

“Truck’s here!” Karen exclaimed, taking your hand and pulling you to the door. Billy made to follow them, but was stopped by a light touch on his elbow.

“You doing okay?” Frank asked quietly, standing up to face him. Billy scoffed, waved his hand away.

“Making a good first impression on someone that we’ll probably see again,” he shrugged. “I think I’m doing great.” Frank let go, narrowing his eyes. “Come on, they’ll probably want us moving things.”

Frank was right when he had first called. There wasn’t much to move. Once everyone had made a few trips up and down, Billy was shocked to find that they were already done and he hadn’t even broken a sweat. Your bachelor apartment was already looking more lived-in with everything in the corner where a couch should have been.

“I really can’t thank you guys enough for taking me in on such a short notice.” You gave a crushing hug to Frank and Karen as you spoke. When you sat next to Billy on the counter, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Instead, you put your hand on his upper arm, resting it there. “And Billy, for helping? It probably would’ve taken me, like, 20 more minutes to do it if you weren’t here.” At that, he genuinely laughed, but he felt uncomfortable at the feeling of your hand on him. It felt like you were too much, even with his sweater separating your hand from him. He felt the room closing in on him again, and didn’t even think before opening his mouth.

“If you need help unpacking, I’m glad to give you a half hour,” he blurted out. _What the fuck? That was smooth enough, but still…_ You laughed, leaning into him with your hand, and suddenly Billy wasn’t sure if he wanted to sleep with you or put five miles distance between him and you. He didn’t even know which one he would prefer.

“Did you have dinner plans?” Karen asked him, pulling him back to Earth. _Thank God_. “You live near this good Indian place my friend Foggy knows. A few blocks where we came from.”

“I’d better head off,” Billy spoke suddenly, standing up and brushing himself off, “there’s stuff I should wrap up before I go back to work tomorrow.”

He turned back to you. “Pleasure to meet you. Hope you enjoy the city.” Frank had been eyeing him since you’d sat down, but now he just shrugged. Billy waved to Karen and strode for the open door, down the flight of stairs, and out to his car. He didn’t bother looking back up at your balcony, but he had a feeling the three of you were watching him leave.

He drove on autopilot, desperate to clear his body of the tension and unease that was more pronounced now that he had left. What was with you that had him so wound up? Frank was right, you _were_ young and you _were_ cute, but there was something about the way you looked at him that made him want to both turn away in mild disgust, and keep staring at you all the same. Maybe it was some “incompatible energy” shit that Curtis would probably preach about.

He ended up at one of his preferred bars, and sat himself down for a drink. He paid for the lady sitting across from him, one who looked him up and down with a sly grin before inviting him to sit with her. The rest was fluid, robotic motion that came easier to him than having to shake your hand and watch you lift boxes for an hour. Maybe he was just itching to get laid. He’d feel better soon enough. The woman, Irene, was touching his arm in the same place you had not half an hour earlier. Billy took a deep breath, and ran his fingers up her hand, to her arm, then settled on her shoulder.

A smile eased its way to his face.

Meanwhile, you were sat cross-legged with a takeout tupperware of lamb methi, watching Frank pace around, demonstrating the best way to set up your place. You were only half paying attention, you were thinking more about his _very attractive_ friend (who you hadn’t known would be _that_ attractive and nice-smelling; if you had, maybe you’d have worn a nicer pair of shorts). He didn’t talk to you unless you said something first, but seemed fine around Frank. You couldn’t help but reach out to him when you spoke, and were surprised to find his arm tense before he left so suddenly.

“Hey, did I do something to set your friend off?” you piped up when Frank had finished talking. He looked at you in surprise, then to Karen, who shrugged and didn’t look at much else than her food.

“I mean, usually he’s a lot better,” Frank explained. “More well-adjusted to most social shit than me, at least. He’s probably just nervous, doesn’t know what to do with himself.”

“That’s not like him at all,” Karen interjected, cocking her head, “he’s always really put together. And, yeah, he was a lot more tense than usual, but it’s probably a work thing, isn’t it?”

“Nah, you don’t know Billy like I do,” Frank replied. “Son of a bitch was a deer in the headlights as soon as he saw you-” he gestured back to you “-if ya ask me, he probably likes you and doesn’t know what to do about it. Shit, he isn’t used to thinking about more than himself for more than a few minutes at a time.” He chuckled to himself, taking in your expression. Karen snickered and nodded in agreement, having seemingly come to the same conclusion.

That was unexpected. And definitely not something you needed at the moment. You had literally promised to yourself _yesterday_ that you wouldn’t get into any trouble with feelings, and here you were, a week after starting yourself anew, interested in someone that sounded like a narcissistic asshole the more Frank joked about him. The conversation directed elsewhere once he got a new idea for your kitchen, but you couldn’t bring yourself to absorb it.

“Billy’s a good guy, honest,” he reassured you, probably picking up on your pause. He took Karen’s hand, the two of them getting ready to leave. “He’s just not in touch with his feelings or whatever. You seem to be though, thank Christ. Just do you. Russo’ll ease up on ya.”

Not too far away, the Russo in question entered his lofty apartment with a satisfied groan, stretching as he took off his shoes. His hair was messy and he had put his sweater on backwards, but he felt like himself again. He had driven himself and Irene to her place, and when they were done some hours later, he took himself back home. He tossed his clothes in his laundry basket, and prepared himself for tomorrow.

His phone buzzed just when he had fallen into bed, and with a less satisfied groan, Billy reached for it and checked the message.

_Frank Castle: Th hell is up with you?_

Billy rolled his eyes and typed a reply, irked that Frank hadn’t just called him or waited. _Was feeling tense. Problem solved._ He ran his hand contentedly over his thighs, relishing in how sore they were.

_Frank Castle: Bullsht_

There were a few after that, but it had already grown late and Billy knew it would be a long day coming. He skimmed the _“thinks they did something wrong”_ and _“stop being a prck”_ , and gave a hasty apologetic response before turning around and forcing his eyes shut. He had nearly perfected the art of falling asleep in minutes thanks to his time in the Marines. But now, he found himself feeling more awake than before, tracing his fingers back to his arm again and again with a mild guilt.

-

You had set up your bare mattress in the corner (mental note: buy a decent bed frame, then a couch), you lay down and pondered the uneasy fluttering in your chest. It had become quite clear to you during the course of the day that you found Billy Russo quite enticing, but as you remembered Frank’s words, you decided against acting on them. Billy seemed just the right amount of detached-but-welcoming that it would be easy for you to invest too much time trying to win him over. And you weren’t about to turn around and find yourself falling back on your old habits of falling too easily- your experience with Nate had taught you better. You needed to stick to yourself for now; accept the attraction was there, and accept that it just wasn’t the best time.

You’d still have to thank him, though. He hadn’t stayed long, but he did help you out a ton, and you had a feeling you’d see him again anyways, being as close as you were to Karen, and now Frank.

You grumbled to yourself and turned over, reaching for your phone. There was a text from home, which you hastily swiped away for later. You searched his name in Google, and hit enter. There was a flood of articles about him and his company, but you went for what you assumed to be the official website of Anvil. You took a screenshot of the address, then on a whim, saved some of those articles to read later.

You shut your phone off and rolled over to the other side of the mattress, burying your face in your pillow. It didn’t take long for you to drift off, but your last thought before succumbing to sleep was that even though you decided to treat Billy as a neutral, mutual friend, you couldn’t help but feel a special excitement at the prospect of seeing him soon.


	2. [The Misfortune of] Ruining a First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You visit Anvil to thank Billy for helping you move in and learn his way of expressing gratitude.

Anvil headquarters, true to Google Maps’ rendition, was a large, plain brick building in a nicer part of the city. It took you a quick subway ride and a short, pleasant walk to find it. Your phone’s forecast promised a brighter afternoon than you’d seen all week, but today the sun barely peeked through the clouds and reflected weakly off the facility’s many windows. You stood directly in front of it, across the street, working up the courage to go inside. The stream of suits entering and leaving made you feel more and more out of place in a buttoned cardigan and plain black jeans.

 _It’s not like you’re trying for a job_ , you told yourself for the third time. _You probably won’t even have to talk to him._ _You’re just dropping off bread… for the CEO._

It had been just a handful of days since you’d first met Billy, when he helped you move into your new place. Since then, you’d done a bit more unpacking and even got around to your first couple job interviews. In between settling in, you found your way around your kitchen and managed to bake some of your stress away. You were pleased with the ample counter space, it meant you could try your hand at multiple things at a time. You’d stayed up later the night before, baking more chocolate bread for Frank and Karen, and then the coconut rum loaf you held in your hands. Billy looked the type to enjoy nice liquors and desserts, neither of which you could afford in the budget you had before you could get a job. Hopefully this would do.

With as much confidence as you could muster, you strode across the street and up to the entrance to Anvil. Two large men wearing identical “Anvil” caps and jackets approached the door at the same time as you. They gave you a quizzical look before holding the door and letting you walk through first. You offered a quiet “thank you” and slipped in, trying to avoid their gazes.

The interior was about as classy and modern as Billy seemed to be, and looked to be equally as busy. Between the women with earpieces moving purposefully around the surrounding halls, and the men that let you in, your breaths came in and out unsteadily as you approached the front desk. You hoped even harder that Billy would be preoccupied with whatever everyone else seemed to be pressed about.

“Can I help you?” asked one of the two receptionists, taking in your plain attire and unfitting demeanor with a helpful tone. You smiled back meekly and fumbled with the loaf-shaped aluminum foil in your hands.

“I have something for Bil- uh, Mr. Russo,” you told him. “I just wanted to drop it off. I’m a friend of his.” It felt strange to say, given you’d only actually met him once, but you were sure he’d remember you. The receptionist nodded, picked up the phone in front of him and started dialling. You set the loaf on the counter and wiped your sweating palms on your jeans, cursing internally for feeling so nervous.

“Mr. Russo, there’s a woman here for you-” he looked up at you expectantly. You gave your name to him and he returned to the phone, repeating it. “Sure, yes, I will.” A moment passed before the receptionist stood up.

“I’ll take you to his office,” he said, gesturing to the elevator at the end of the hall behind him.

“Oh, I just wanted to drop this off here,” you repeated with a nervous laugh, staying where you were and holding up the bread. “It looks busy here, I don’t want to impose myself or anything.”

“Mr. Russo insisted I bring you up,” the receptionist reassured you with a kind smile. You took a deep breath. _Okay. Fine, we can deal with this._ You nodded and let him guide you down the hallway. You passed a window looking into a large room full of gym equipment and a few people exercising quite aggressively. On your other side, an identical room holding less equipment but more people working together.

“He’s just finished with a trainee orientation, so you don’t have to worry about interrupting him or anything,” the receptionist said to you as you waited for the elevator.

“Oh, that’s good,” you replied, finally finding control of your breath. What did you have to be so jittery over?

 _The worst thing that could happen would be something stupid like Billy being allergic to coconuts_ , you reminded yourself, and instantly felt worse from the thought _. You’re just freaking out because he’s hot_ . _And that’s something you shouldn’t let fuck yourself up. Just bread, then you won’t have to see him until you see Karen. Shit, am I seeing her soon?_

“-Elijah.” The receptionist’s quiet voice in your ear startled you.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch that,” you laughed. He smiled tightly.

“I didn’t introduce myself, my name is Elijah," he said a bit louder. You hadn’t noticed when you walked in the elevator, but he was standing a bit too close for your comfort.

“That’s great,” you nodded, shifting away from him. He seemed to get your message; you watched him press a button and stare forward in an uncomfortable silence. When the doors opened, you were led down another long and winding hallway of glass doors looking into offices and conference rooms. Elijah knocked twice on a black door at the very end of the hall, opened it and let you in without another word, leaving it slightly ajar before leaving.

Billy's office was bigger than your whole apartment, and somewhere in the back of your mind you wondered if he felt sorry for you at all having seen your living space. You felt tiny under the high ceiling and the large framed pictures of guns on the wall.

At the center of the wall across from you, Billy Russo sat at a long, sleek black desk. He held a pen to his lips while the other clicked away on a computer. He looked up, having heard you enter but not approach, and gave you a charming smile uncharacteristic of the tall, dark, mysterious man you had met before. He wore a dark gray business suit and a crimson tie, but his hair was slicked back like it was when you’d last seen him. He looked like he was exactly where he belonged.

"I wasn't expecting you," he called across the room and beckoned you over. You tried not to whine in your throat as you walked to where he stood up to receive the lump of crinkled aluminum foil.

"It's just a small thank-you thing," you explained, "for helping me move in and all. I don't think I'll have to take you up on that half hour to unpack, but it's nice to see you anyways."

He gestured for you to sit down and he did the same, pushing his computer aside to make space. He unwrapped the foil and stared at it, face still. Your fears shot up in record time- it didn't look as bad as the wrapper suggested, and in your defense, you brought it in a bag on the subway. It was bread. It hadn't taken you nearly as much energy as Billy seemed to think, eyeing it so intensely as if you'd brought him a bomb instead. He glanced up at you and his polite smile grew, and you couldn’t tell if he looked more alluring or predatory.

"You really shouldn't have," he said, shifting his gaze to you now, "that's incredible."

"Well, you didn't stick around long- which is fine, I get it-" _fuckshitfuck don’t say that_ "-I just thought I'd try my hand at a proper conversation. Through bread." Billy gave you a funny look and cleared his throat, breaking eye contact and licking his lips.

"Yeah, uh," he leaned forward, elbows on his desk, "that was my bad, our first meeting, I apologize. I wasn't myself that day, I really do think you're quite wonderful." He all but winked at you, drumming his long fingers on the desk and smiling cheekily. 

“It happens,” you said, waving a hand and attempting to make yourself comfortable in the plush chair. “For the record, you’re not too bad either.”

“Thanks,” Billy scoffed, but his smile never wavered. How he could pull off being that handsome without pause, you didn't have a clue. He tilted his head down, and his dark eyes almost black. "I can be a lot better though.”

 _Lord,_ Jesus, _he's making this hard._

"Beg your pardon?" you almost choked. Billy laughed loudly and you could swear there was a slight echo in his office. He sat straight, running a hand on his beard. You wondered faintly what it would be like to do that yourself.

"I'm just about done here. Join me for dinner." His face changed then- he relaxed, and his eyes grew softer, less calculating. "We can eat, uh, the dessert you got here."

You were sure he heard your heart beating through your chest. Your teeth clenched and you blinked a few times, glancing between his intense gaze, his fingers splayed out in front of you, and your own hands in your lap.

"It's coconut rum bread," you corrected him, "I have another at home. This one's all yours."

Billy's eyebrows lifted slightly and he nodded slowly. "Ah. I thought I smelled… rum." He dipped his head low, face an inch from the loaf. You were surprised at the size of the breath you held when you let it out. He glanced up at you and gave that cheeky grin again.

"I'm glad," you said. "I don't know what you like, but I figured the rum was a good start."

He looked at you and tugged at his lip with his teeth. "I do like rum. I'm indifferent to coconut, though, I'm actually allergic."

You smacked your forehead. _Just your luck_.

"But it's fine! It's fine," he said hurriedly and wrapped it back up. "It won't go to waste. Hell, my allergy ain't even that bad, I can handle an itchy throat."

"No!" you reached forward and grabbed it from him without thinking. Your face grew hot, and at Billy’s laugh you set it back down on the desk. “I mean- give it to your employees or something. You don’t have to make me feel better, I’ll just make you another-”

"You still haven’t said anything about food," Billy interrupted you, quietly but firmly. Though he looked quite serious, his eyes were soft. He was so different from the last time you saw him- of course this was much more personal, but it was hard to tell how much of that suave front he was putting on for you.

You froze. You weren’t entirely sure when you started to feel so confident in the course of the conversation, but you realized you had just about crossed the dangerous line of flirtation. You remembered bitterly the promise you made to yourself. _No love trouble until you figure yourself out_ . If he kept playing along, you weren’t sure how much control you’d have over yourself in keeping that promise. Especially looking _that_ sharp.

"I busted into your office and almost killed you," you said instead, trying to steer the conversation.

"Hey, I said it's a mild allergy. Don't even need an EpiPen."

"It's not even close to dinner,” you tried.

"I run my company how I want," he shrugged. "If you want to say no, just say no. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable." You could swear he looked as dejected as one could be while still being drop-dead _fuckable_ in a two-piece suit.

"It's not that," you shook your head. "I'd like to."

“But?” Billy licked his lips and cocked an eyebrow, and with that, all logic was dangerously close to flying out of your head. You needed to stop this before you let yourself make any mistakes.

“But nothing. Don’t get any ideas in your head, _friend of a friend_ ,” you joked, more trying to convince yourself than anyone else. He likely picked up on your reluctance, but shrugged nonetheless and stood up.

_Then again, you could enjoy yourself as long as he wasn’t outwardly trying anything with you._

“Frankie took me to this barbecue joint in between here and yours. Good place for friends to be friends,” he suggested as he walked behind you, taking his jacket from a hook on the wall. You could taste now the disappointment that lingered between you. Hell, it was an aftertaste from the shit excuse that had fallen from your lips.

“You didn’t drive here, did you?” he asked, suddenly materializing behind you. You shook your head, and as naturally as you could manage, you stood up and followed him to the door with an amicable smile.

You took the elevator to the ground floor in pleasant conversation- mostly him asking you casual questions about how you were finding New York so far. Elijah gave you both a tight smile when you passed reception; Billy waved at him nonchalantly and held the door open for you as you left. When you reached his car, he rushed in front of you and opened the door to the passenger seat for you too. And that rubbed you _just_ wrong enough that you started to panic.

“This isn’t a date, Billy,” you cautioned, crossing your arms. You stepped away from him. “I’m serious, I think you’re great, but I can’t do this if we’re not on the same page.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t let go of the door as he scoffed in disbelief. “Don’t flatter yourself, I do this for Karen too.”

You got in and let him close the door behind him as he walked around the back. It was probably the nicest car you’d ever been in; the seats were a creamy leather you sank into as Billy got into the driver’s seat. It was when he started the car and pulled out of Anvil’s parking lot that you realized you could smell a mix of the interior of the car and Billy’s cologne, the one you recognized from the first time you met. It almost made you lightheaded, looking at him in your peripheral vision and forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as he navigated the streets. You let your gaze wander to his long fingers instead, flicking the windshield wiper when rain began to fall silently on the window. _So much for the sun._

“Enjoying the city view?” he asked for maybe the third time, and when you finally tore your gaze from his hands, you were surprised to find he was already staring at you. The red light you were stopped at seemed to take its sweet time turning green.

You blinked a couple times, and did your best to not squirm in your seat. “Still as good as when you asked me five minutes ago.”

His default polite smile softened as he chuckled lightly, and he turned his head to the road.

“I’ve been in for some job interviews, actually,” you said, running your hands down the soft leather on the door. “I was in the area around Anvil, actually; it’s a really nice area, there was a bakery and a couple restaurants I’ve been talking to.”

“So that’s your thing? Baking or whatever?”

“I’m a pastry chef,” you corrected him. “My family has a bakery back home.”

“Hence the speaking through bread,” Billy remarked as he turned his signal on and stretched his right arm behind you to park. The conversation gave you an excuse to keep looking at him while he reversed into a spot. His mouth fell open just slightly in concentration, and his neck was craned back _just_ perfectly- you could run your eyes unashamedly at the expanse of his well-trimmed beard.

He stopped the car finally, and returned to you with a half-smirk when he realized you’d been staring, but said nothing. You looked at each other for what felt like way too long, but you were too transfixed to stop.

“I’m hungry,” he said, clearing his throat. He got out of the car without another word, and you turned to do the same. You beat him to the door, but he still offered a hand while you stepped out.

“Not a date,” he assured you before you took it. You let go with some reluctance when you started to walk, following his lead. The rain had continued to fall lightly on the sidewalk, barely making a sound over the rush of people walking on either side of you.

Despite his words, Billy opened the restaurant doors for you and guided you in with his hand on the small of your back. He pulled your chair out for you before he sat down and ordered your drink for you with a charming smile and “thank you” to the waitress. 

You learned, that late afternoon, about how he started his company, how he rectified that mistake with Frank and Homeland Security, and what Anvil did now. He talked about Frank and Curtis, and how life was treating him as of late. You felt like it was the easiest thing in the world to open up to him, he listened so intently through meaningful nods and smiles. You told him very briefly about Nate, then about growing up with Karen, your family’s business with her dad’s diner, your training as a chef. The whole dinner, he made the most wonderful conversation.

You watched in fascination, how he seemed to perform every second since you’d left the car. You weren’t entirely sure where the line was between his professional front and whoever Billy Russo really was.

_Best man I’ve ever known. CEO. Narcissistic asshole. Lieutenant._

You weren’t sure if there was even a line. You weren’t sure at all if you’d really met him, or if there was anything more. There had to be; when you looked across the table, you saw depth in his eyes. He seemed to know just what to say to keep himself in a good light, but in just an hour and a half at that restaurant, you’d learned so little, yet so much about him, you forgot you were meant to suppress the desire to find more, to look into him as he seemed to look into you.

The waitress had assumed you were together, so the bill came combined. You’d rolled your eyes and pulled out your wallet to at least cover your end of the meal, but Billy gave his card to her without even looking at the number on the bill. When you slid some cash across the table, he simply slid it back and finished his drink.

“You don’t owe me. I do this for all my friends,” he said as he stood, pulling his jacket over his shoulders and waiting for you to get up too.

You weren’t sure which one of you he was trying to convince.

He insisted on driving you home too, but you were grateful for that. The rain was coming down much harder than before; the smell of it hitting the pavement put a smile on your face. He opened the car door for you and you didn’t object as you slid in, grimacing when you realized you’d get his nice seats wet.

“Thank you, for the not-date,” you said to him, and you meant it. You wiped your face with your damp sweater sleeve. Billy reached across your lap into the glove compartment and handed you a tissue. You quietly thanked him again and dried your face and hands.

“Still going on about that, huh?” He had his hand on the keys in the ignition, but didn’t turn it on.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, “I have a hard time believing you pull chairs and open doors for Frank and Curtis.”

He laughed at that, and you were quite sure that one was genuine. “Fair enough. But honestly, _I’d_ have a hard time believing you’re not reciprocating at least a little bit.”

“I’ll pay you back for the barbecue,” you said easily, but that unease crept back into your arms, threatening to settle in your hands, make them shake at his suggestive tone.

“Come on,” he pressed, now turning fully to face you in the car. “Look, I didn’t want to try anything because I’m only a _little_ bit scared of what Karen would do-” you snorted lightly “-but I had a great time, and I think you did too.”

 _Not this. Not in his car. Not him. Not so soon. You just got here._ You could feel his breath on your face, it made you dizzy.

“I did,” you assured him, voice just above a murmur. A hundred thoughts raced through your head, and you pleaded with your eyes that this wouldn’t go wrong. You’d had a wonderful time.

“I’m not gonna ask you to do anything,” Billy relented, having taken note of your shift. He sat back in his seat, and you realized just then how close you’d leaned into him. “Just…” He licked his lips and looked away from you. “Would a date be so bad?”

You’d broken your promise.

“I can’t,” you said after a moment’s silence. “I’m not ready. I can’t, Billy, I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” he nodded, and didn’t question you any further. He started the car and pulled out of the sidewalk. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to push you.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, not daring to look at him as he drove.

“Why are you sorry?” he scoffed. “You don’t have to be sorry. _I’m_ sorry.” He sounded angry, and you prayed it wouldn’t reflect on you. What were you going to tell Karen? Frank? Would you even tell them anything at all, or would he?

“I won’t bring it up again,” he said, as if he could read your thoughts. “Just friends, right?” You met his gaze and saw that he was smiling again. As if nothing had happened.

Billy dropped you off and watched you disappear into your building, but stayed parked. He gripped the steering wheel and clenched his teeth, staring at the empty passenger’s seat. For God’s sake, how could he have fucked up _that_ bad? He was supposed to apologize for how he acted, take you out for dinner, and impress you with his best self. How could that have not been enough?

He drove back to his apartment, unable to think of much else than his immense self-loathing. He hadn’t felt this way since he’d exposed Rawlins, when he had to confront what he had done. Karen had kept her distance and spoken no more than a sentence to him at a time until she was sure Frank was on good terms. Billy had to own up to what he did, and he had to repair that friendship. He worked to the bone for it, and he made it up to Frank, and he proved himself to Karen that way.

You, on the other hand, you’d been so kind and inviting to him. You thanked him, you gave him a gift, _you_ went to him. And he fucked it up because he just _had_ to ask. Because you seemed to want it too. You talked about yourself to him like it was nothing at all, as if you couldn’t see the way he ate up every one of your words. And you asked him so many questions about him, he felt like he could tell you anything. He probably would have, if not for the sliver of restraint that had broken before he asked you for a real date. He was officially obsessed. And who was Billy Russo if not someone who could read the room?

Apparently he was wrong. He did his best to reciprocate, thought he was taking your signals in stride. But now, the image of your fear that he would do something to you in his car, it made him see red. Like he could even think of something that vile. What would he even have done? Asked you to come home with him? As much as he wanted to, wanted to kiss your perfect smile the whole time you were at dinner, wanted to hear his name from your perfect lips again and again… as much as he wanted to, he heard you out. Not a date. Fine. Just friends. He just wanted to be near you, and there was hardly anyone in the world that could drive him that wild.

“Get it together,” he muttered to himself, slamming his car door and striding across the parking garage to the elevator. “Fuck’s sake. Fix it.” How would he fix this? Billy groaned and all but stormed to his apartment.

His phone dinged, and he half-expected another lecture from Frank. It was Irene, the woman from some four or five days ago, he couldn’t care less. She wanted to meet. He looked at the text, and tried his best to remember what she looked like. Tried to figure out if it mattered to him, if she was worth the damn. How would he fix this?

He turned his phone off and fell into bed, fully clothed and half-damp from the rain. He grumbled into his pillow and lazily disrobed until he was bare on top of his covers, but he couldn’t fall asleep to save his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!! it would mean the world to me if you let me know what you thought, even what you'd like to see happen. This will be up on my tumblr too, where I take requests :) take care and stay safe friends


	3. [The Misfortune of] Ten Streets and Ten Minutes of Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your friendship with Billy continues to blossom at the expense of your growing attraction to him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes, this was late, wasn't it? I had a hard time writing this, maybe because there wasn't as much intense plot and I usually only write one-shots, but I'm challenging myself with this slow burn thing! That's of course, not to say there won't be interesting plot (that's for the next chapter) :)

You were wiping down your workstation when the girl working the counter asked for anyone from the kitchen to cover her while she took a smoke break. You couldn’t imagine how empty it was out front for her to suggest such a thing. Then again, you were fresh fish, so it didn’t come as a surprise when one of the other chefs called your name.

“I’m not a waitress _or_ a cashier,” you reminded the girl, Vivian, as you moved to the sink to wash your hands nonetheless. There wasn’t much for you to do at that moment- you’d finished the majority of your training for the day and the executive pastry chef had left you to the other kitchen staff’s whims and demands.

"Just sell cakes, then,” Vivian retorted, hanging up her apron on the wall and fishing out a pack of cigarettes from her purse. You watched her put one in her mouth backwards as she talked, not missing a beat. “Only call me if someone comes in and wants to order food. I’ll be ten minutes max. Follow the prompts on the iPad.”

You sighed and left the kitchen, surveying the truly empty seating area. It was just past two, and long gone were the clouds that had covered the streets in a rich blue when you’d left your place that morning. Now everything outside the street-facing windows sparkled; you lazily watched passersby glide on the sunlit concrete for what felt like forever. When the saxophone piece on the overhead speaker came to a close, you glanced at the clock.

Twelve minutes.

_At least you could give your hands a rest._

You leaned against the humming espresso machines, sipping languidly at a cup of room-temperature water. If this was all there was to your Tuesday shifts, you were grateful. Maybe you’d bring a book next time and enjoy the first quiet place you’d found in a while.

You were broken from your thoughts at the sound of your name again, but not from the kitchen behind you. Frank held the glass door with a grin on his face, pushing a polished Billy Russo into the restaurant. They were in their respective uniforms- Frank’s being plain jeans and black shirt and Billy’s, a grey three-piece suit and a royal blue tie.

“Aw, I didn’t know you took a job at Alma’s!” Frank exclaimed, rubbing his hands together and putting them down on the counter. He squinted at the menu on the wall behind you while Billy hung back.

“Anvil isn’t too far, I’ve been here for lunch. The cream puffs are to die for,” Billy chimed in passively, and for the first time since you’d seen him some two and a half weeks ago, you locked eyes. You felt your face grow warm and you thought back to his car, involuntarily taking a deep breath in the hopes of catching the scent of cologne and leather. His mouth quirked upwards in a knowing smirk.

Frank thankfully took no notice.

“Yeah, can we get two- no, three? Damn, they look good... I’ll save one for Karen. Maybe.” You giggled at the bulky, 5’10” kid in front of you, leaning into the glass display case with a dorky smile. Billy strutted up to the counter to take Frank’s place.

“You made them?” he asked, gesturing to the grand display of croissants and puffs. Though his body was still turned to Frank so as to include him in the conversation, he spoke to you directly.

“I did,” you said evenly, “I don’t work the counter, though- Vivian’s still on her break. I can call her to ring you up if you want, Frank.”

“Oh, we can wait,” he replied, standing back up and looking over to Billy, who shrugged and rolled his shoulders back. “Not much to do at Anvil right now, hm?”

“No,” Billy said coolly. His eyes flickered up to the clock before addressing you. “Are you busy?”

“No,” you repeated immediately, trapped still by his unblinking eyes. For a second you wondered if this was what hypnosis felt like, “I’m almost finished for today, actually.”

“What about later?” Frank pressed, standing up straight to peer at you over the display case. “Football tonight. Russo’s penthouse.” Heat rose to your face as your gaze flickered between the two of them showing off identical, charming puppy eyes. _Penthouse_?

“Hi, can I get you anything?” Vivian’s voice as she trotted onto the floor. _Thank God._ It had been nearly twenty minutes since she’d taken her break. You came around the counter to give her access to the register, accepting a one-armed hug from Frank.

“Three cream puffs please, miss!” Frank ordered resolutely, turning away from you to fish out his wallet. You turned to Billy, who stayed put, and involuntarily took a step toward him. He grinned now and mirrored your movement.

“Well?” Billy was all but hovering over you now. “My place tonight?”

“I’ll catch you next time,” you breathed out. “I have an early shift tomorrow.”

That was only half a lie. Though you were an early riser by nature and necessity, it was better to pretend you weren’t than to let yourself indulge in your stupid fantasies- what it would be like to go to his _penthouse_ , to sit on his couches (he had to have more than one, right?) with his arm on your back. Did he relax there after long days of ordering people around? You looked at his attire now, thinking of his blue tie loosened, the top two buttons of his crisp shirt unbuttoned as he kicked off his spit-shined shoes.

“That’s too bad,” Billy murmured, his default businessman stoicism broken as he let a disappointed smile slip through to you. Frank thanked Vivian and you heard the _clink_ of his change in the tip jar. Billy took a small step to you, and gingerly placed his hand on your arm. “Catch you next time, then.”

“What, you’re not coming, kid?” Frank blurted, appearing at Billy’s side with a cream puff in hand. The hand on your arm was gone; instead you observed your pastry seeming to diminish in size as he held it in his long fingers and brought it up to his mouth for a slow, pornographic bite.

“Next time,” you promised through a dry throat. Frank wrapped his free arm around your waist again and strode for the door. Billy hung back until he’d swallowed, then he held the cream puff in front of him.

“ _To die for_ ,” he drawled, his accent shining through. The sharp click of his shoes and his voice echoed in your ears after the door shut.

“ _He’s_ hot,” Vivian cooed, successfully catching you off guard. You snorted as you watched the two of them disappear from your view of the street before you returned behind the counter.

“I guess he is,” you admitted. You took off your apron and rolled your shoulders back, moaning satisfiedly at the stretch.

“You seeing him? Romantically, I mean, but I’m not judging if it’s just benefits.”

You shook your head, choosing to ignore the last remark. “I’m not in a place to date right now.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Vivian teased. You raised an eyebrow at her as you walked to the kitchen. She waited patiently for you to get your things and clock out before she continued. “I don’t think I’ve seen that much emotion in your eyes since we met. I’m talking Fuck City, man, and- and him too! He was-”

“I think you need to quit whatever you’re smoking,” you interrupted her, “and I’ll appreciate you minding your own business, Viv. I've seen you and Dave disappearing after morning rush.”

“Whatever,” she laughed, leaning back to make sure the cook in question hadn’t heard the accusation. “See you tomorrow, lovebird.”

Not even a full twenty-four hours passed before Vivian was calling you to the front again. You grunted out something resembling a “no” and turned your focus back to pulling the danishes from the oven. She’d clocked in half an hour ago, surely her precious smoke break could wait until you’d finished prepping, completed any menial upkeep tasks given to you by your superior chef, made sure the front case was stocked, and filled out any special orders. Then you’d take her place until you could clock out and repeat the whole process again the next day. 

Your honeymoon phase with New York City’s glamour was coming to a close, plus this morning had been rough. You’d gone to sleep past midnight, and consequently woken up twenty minutes before your shift started. You’d sprinted out, hailed a taxi, and busted your cheek pretty hard on the door when you tripped on your untied shoelaces. Once you’d recovered from that adrenaline rush, you realized your shirt was only half-buttoned, so the taxi driver wasn’t doing a terrific job of keeping his eyes on the road. You’d still stumbled into your shift late, unacceptable for your position, and you were thrown into catching up for the missed time.

Vivian yelled your name again into the kitchen, over the shoulder of another waitress.

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” you grumbled, not caring who heard. You weren’t in the mood; you just wanted to get the next seven hours over with and go back home to your plants.

You took a deep breath and set the danishes down before trudging past the bustling cooks and waitstaff to the counter area. The restaurant was starting to pick up foot traffic- you recognized some regulars who came for a sit-down breakfast, for a cup of coffee, for a muffin on their way to their own busy jobs. There was one customer though, standing still among the chaos, surveying the staff until his dark eyes settled on you.

“Shit, what happened to your face?” Billy greeted you when he approached.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” you grunted and let your head thud on the wall beside you. You didn’t flinch when he reached out and lightly pressed his thumb on what now felt like a mean bruise. His touch was gentle, his cold hand soothing on your cheek. Your irritation instantly melted away, along with the thought that it _definitely_ wasn’t a good idea to stare too long at his pursed lips as he assessed the injury.

“It is. What happened?” he asked again, brows furrowed intensely.

“I just tripped,” you sighed and pulled back. “Had to rush today, I was late.” You checked behind you to make sure no one was searching for you at your empty station.

“You should’ve asked for a ride,” he hummed matter-of-factly. At that, you raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t-”

“Don’t start with that.” Billy rolled his eyes. “It’s not charity, I’m not hitting on you. You’re not far off my route anyways- you can walk to Anvil from here.”

“I wasn’t going to argue,” you shook your head and watched his face soften as he nodded, satisfied. “I’ll take you up on it. But I was going to say I didn’t have any means to ask you, besides your company number.”

At that, Billy hummed and let go of your face. He craned his neck to look behind you, making a writing motion with his hand. Someone nudged your back- Vivian appeared at your side to slide a pen to Billy across the counter. He thanked her and you noticed for the first time the paper bag he held in his other hand. He scribbled on it before handing tucking the pen into the folded top of the bag and handing it to you.

“What’s this?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“Yesterday you said you had an early shift,” he shrugged. “Thought I’d stop by on my way in.” You put the pen on the counter and opened the paper bag, immediately hit by the intoxicating smell of a grilled cheese sandwich and the sight of a soup container. It was enough to make your mouth _and_ eyes water.

“God you’re a lifesaver,” you moaned into the bag, and without thinking you set it down to wrap both arms tightly around Billy’s waist. He stiffened under your embrace, but surely enough his hands came around to rest under your shoulder blades, rubbing gently as you both relaxed. He smelled like hair product, and that same cologne...

“I’ll let you go now,” he said. “It’s getting crowded in here, I don’t want to keep you-”

“Oi!” the shrill voice of the executive chef behind you startled you out of Billy’s arms. “An order came in for a cake, you gotta fill that out once you finish the muffins. You’re still ten minutes behind.”

“On it,” you replied, shifting gears back into work mode. You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Billy with the bag in your hands. He returned your smile easily, and he turned at your superior- a no-nonsense woman half his height with just as much ability to intimidate.

“I’ll take it upon myself that they won’t be any less than ten minutes early from here on out,” he assured her seriously, before winking at you and heading out.

“She better not be,” she added sharply before leaving you be. You padded to the back to stash your lunch away and return to your station. Your body switched to autopilot, carrying out your duties while you pondered. It felt like you had found a comfortable level of intimacy appropriate to your friendship with Billy. Friends hugged each other, of course, and friends brought each other food unprompted. And now that you knew he was clear on your boundaries, it would be fine to have him drive you to work every day, right? At this point, it was on _you_ to make sure you weren’t leading either of you on. _No time for feelings_ , you reminded yourself. In time with your thoughts, you jumped when you carelessly brushed your arm against the hot oven door. You had work to do.

You took your lunch break at the back of the restaurant a few hours later. With fingers greased by the _heavenly_ grilled cheese sandwich, you texted Billy your schedule. Not two minutes later, he replied. As it turned out, he was able to carpool four days a week, and you could imagine him rolling his eyes in his office when you objected.

_No need to thank me. But the coconut bread was really good._

_You ate it?!_ You typed furiously with a hot spoon of tomato soup in your mouth. You’d assumed he’d given it to Frank or Curtis or just tossed it altogether.

_You’ll have to try better next time if you want to kill me._

Maybe so, but there was no denying he was close to killing you. Your heart sped up as you thought of his hand brushing your cheek again, and again, and again. His long fingers spread under your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. God.

 _Wouldn't want to ruin your figure,_ you replied before getting up and throwing the bag in the trash. 

Two mornings later, Billy proved to you that you _weren’t_ as much of a morning person as you thought. You were only halfway out of bed when your phone buzzed.

_I’ll be there in 10. Be ready outside._

Perhaps it was his Marine training that had him working like a machine before the sun rose? It was much longer than it took to drive to Alma’s before your shift began- maybe he was going to drop you off at Anvil and you’d have to walk. You didn’t mind all too much- the sky was clear outside your windows and it looked to be a promising day.

You got ready in a rush, tripping over nothing more than once as you attempted to dress and look presentable at the same time. When you left your building, only slightly disheveled, at the ten-minute mark, Billy was leaning against his car waiting for you. He greeted you with a smile that made your knees weak, and accepted your hug in return before he opened your door for you. He smelled like he’d just showered, and his black suit felt perfectly crisp in your hands.

“Have you eaten yet?” you asked him once he’d buckled up. He raised an eyebrow and started the car.

“Was gonna ask you the same thing.” He didn’t move; he kept his hands on the wheel while he sat still, facing you.

“I was asleep twelve minutes ago, so no, I haven’t,” you mumbled. You turned your gaze to the window when he laughed softly- the sound both woke you up and soothed you, but your face felt warm all the same. You sat up straighter and looked straight ahead, focusing intently on a plain red fire hydrant.

“I thought we could stop by somewhere,” he said. "I could go for a McMuffin."

“You got me up at buttfuck o’clock in the morning for McDonald’s?" Your head snapped back to him and you drew in a quick breath. Billy laughed louder this time and started to drive.

You ended up going to Dunkin. Billy got a coffee and a breakfast sandwich, and you were so distracted by the way he licked his thumb before counting the bills in his hand that you panicked at the counter and got the first donut you saw without thinking. Given that it was near six in the morning, the maple frosting didn't sit well in your stomach, as you found out soon after you started working.

The next day, you anticipated his early arrival and sat outside on your building’s front steps to wait with your breakfast. The sun was barely starting to light up the sky, though today it wouldn’t be as visible through the thin blanket of clouds. Billy’s Rolls Royce appeared and parked just around your corner, giving him enough time to stride around the front and open the passenger door as you started to walk to him.

“I made you muffins,” you said. “I hope you’re not allergic to raspberries.”

With his gloved hand wrapping around yours, he took the bag and pulled you into a hug that lasted no more than half a moment. Though it was less than two feet between you, it felt like the breath was knocked out of your lungs.

“Thank you.”

Then he was gone as fast as he had been there, his back already turned to you as he walked to his door without a word.

A week flew by in the sort of passivity that came with routine. You woke up promptly at five-twenty, met Billy at five-forty, and he dropped you off at Alma’s by five-fifty-five. On the first day you had to take transit to work later in the morning, you left for your lunch break with two to-go containers of savory waffles from Dave. You took it as a sort of hush-hush payment while he left with Vivian during the midday lull, so when they came back, you set off for Anvil. The building was considerably less daunting than the last time you’d been there- not only was it the sun that shone on the brick and the tall, wide windows reflecting the life of the passersby around you, but you knew the man at the top of the chain better than you had a month ago. It wasn’t exactly home, but when you looked at Anvil and walked inside by yourself, you felt almost as comfortable as you did when you were with Billy. As if it was an extension of him.

“Hi, is Mr. Russo in?” you asked the lady at the reception desk.

“He’s out for a meeting, but he’ll be back in the next hour or so,” she intoned. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I don’t. I’ll just leave this, then.” You took the pen on the desk and signed your name on one of the paper containers before sliding it to her. You left the building and began your walk back to Alma’s.

 _If you’re going to start bringing me lunch, I might have to invest in a fridge and microwave,_ was the reply you received near the end of your day.

 _All that office space and no microwave?_ you texted back.

_One in the employee break room, but I didn’t want to share._

_How typical of you,_ you replied, and after a few minutes of no response you turned off your phone and laid back in your seat, waiting for your stop. There was no reply when you got off the train, and none still when you walked from the station to your apartment. You unlocked your door and hummed a whimsical tune as you took your shoes off and tossed your keys on the table. Your phone was silent when you changed out of your work uniform, when you ate your microwave dinner, when you browsed furniture websites for a bedframe.

And that was okay. It meant that you were becoming accustomed to Billy’s presence in your life. You were getting used to him being there, so maybe it was just a silly crush after all. If it were, perhaps you’d be lying facedown on the floor, cursing yourself for your four-word response, as if _that_ was the reason he hadn’t replied to your text after five hours.

It wasn't until you closed your laptop and fell back onto your mattress that your phone finally buzzed underneath you.

_Had an appointment._

That was his reason. You didn't care to ask what kind of appointment took six hours, but he didn't give you time to voice that before another text came.

_I’m willing to challenge your perception of my selfishness._

You rolled your eyes.

 _I can be very giving,_ he continued.

You thought you'd be more invested in the suggestiveness of his words, but instead you found yourself as tired as you were before you'd read them. By that, you felt more assured than ever as you typed a response, plugged your phone in and rolled to the other side of the bed.

_Lucky me. Start giving tomorrow._

The phone buzzed a few more times after that, but you were already halfway succumbed to the call of sleep. You imagined passively, Billy texting you, calling you, from his penthouse somewhere in the city. You could almost hear his voice, confident- but careful. He was always so careful with you.

You wrapped your duvet tighter around you, despite the mugginess of New York's encroaching summer. The cotton was definite against your skin- it was there, and if you moved a even a centimetre, you could feel it. You could take into account everything around you in your apartment- the steps of your upstairs neighbour, the low hum of the building working underneath you, in the walls. Sounds and vibrations so material you'd feel their presence in your sleep. And that should have been comforting. Instead, they felt intrusive.

Instead, you found yourself falling asleep to the thought of Billy’s calloused hands ghosting upon your face the morning you were late for work. A barely-there touch, yet as real and tangible as anything else you could see. You remembered him holding your chin, turning your gaze upwards, but that felt wrong. When he was there, you felt like you were always looking at him. When he wasn't, you were left looking forward to the next time you'd see him. No matter how often you could assure yourself that words and intentions drove your friendship and left the impression of Billy on your mind, it was those phantom touches that resounded within you and ached the most.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope to update somewhat biweekly (or whenever my health dictates, lmao). I also post my writing on my tumblr (same username) and some other stuff too small for an ao3 fic. Much love and stay safe!


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